


Starry Night

by fire_droplets



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, Clothed Sex, Dry Humping, Fic Exchange, Fluff and Smut, Freeform, M/M, Stargazing, Teenlock, exchangelock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 14:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1944999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_droplets/pseuds/fire_droplets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sun follows you wherever you go; it never tires. Constantly by your side, revolving around you.<br/>Stars don’t. They have their own life, independent creatures who are constantly changing their places. Except they don’t. You are wrong and then you remember the solar system is still a mystery to you. But you don’t seem to mind because there are figures in the night sky, story tellers. You liked listening to them. Past tense. They don’t shine as bright as they did in the past.<br/>You learned how to live with that fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starry Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhichWolfWins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/gifts).



> This is my Exchangelock gift for whichwolfwins.  
> I had a really hard time writing this and I'm sorry if it's not what you were expecting, it's the first time I've written a fic. I apologize if there's any mistakes and I hope you have fun reading it!

 

 

 

**6 minutes. JW**

_For? SH_

**Wait for me outside and you’ll see. JW**

_My parents are at home. SH_

**Use the window. JW**

 

* * *

 

 

It’s easy to slip through the window of his bedroom, unseen, without disturbing the silence of the night. Sherlock has proven it countless times in the past.

He’s nothing but careful as he locks the door and props himself up on the window sill, long legs dangling against the brick clad wall. Strong branches creak under his weight, followed by the dull thump of feet hitting the ground.

John had said 6 minutes. Last time he had to wait 9 minutes and 18 seconds so he knows better than to trust his estimates.

The crisp night air of London seeps through Sherlock’s clothes and bites at his skin and he’s shivering by the time he can distinguish the sound of an old engine and the drag of wheels against hard concrete. He watches as John pulls over and steps outside of the car, smiling as he takes in the sight of his boyfriend - Sherlock would snort at the given name -, all bony elbows and gangly limbs, pale skin that reflects the light of the moon and a mess of wild curls that blends with the darkness of the night.

‘’Hey,’’ John greets.

‘’Where?’’ Sherlock inquires, not wasting any time, narrowing his eyes at John.

John’s lips stretch into a smirk and he tilts his head to one side. ‘’Aren't you going to kiss me first?’’

Sherlock purses his lips tightly but he has to look down for he can’t suppress the smile that lifts the corners of his mouth. It only takes him three long strides and he’s standing within John’s personal space. The kiss is chaste, overly so, a mere brush of lips as Sherlock bends down slightly to spare John from standing on his tiptoes. But a week without the briefest of touches is something both of them can’t bear and it quickly turns into something more when John grabs the lapels of Sherlock’s coat and urges him down to lunge at his lips again.

They’re forced to put some distance between the two of them but they smile as they do so because Sherlock’s hair is tousled where John’s fingers had tangled themselves in it and John’s cheeks are tainted pink, the cold wind not the only cause for that fact.

‘’Right, come on,’’ John urges, clearing his throat and slapping Sherlock playfully on the arse just to see the instant blush that creeps up on his cheeks before walking to the car. ‘’I can snog you in much more comfortable places.’’

Sherlock steps inside as John holds the door open for him and glances up into his blue eyes, eyebrow raised and the hint of a smirk ghosting over his lips. ‘’Is that a promise?’’

John only winks.

‘’Your mother’s car?’’

There’s the metallic click of two seat belts being buckled and only then does John speaks.

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Parents away?’’

‘’Sleeping.''

‘’Feeling daring are we?’’

‘’You don’t seem to mind.’’

‘’Fair point. So you decided to take me away?’’

‘’Seems so, yeah.’’

‘’To?’’

The low rumble of the motor sounds too loud in contrast with the quietness of the night. John glances one last time at Sherlock, hands placed on the steering wheel. ‘’Who knows?’’

 

* * *

 

 

Clouds gathered in inexplicable figures, blending with the night sky. Obscuring the moon who weakly shone above them and bathed the city with a feeble strike of light. The stars didn't come out, out-shined by a mass of street lamps, artificial light, that poisoned the darkness of the night.

It had reminded Sherlock of endless midnights spent gazing up at the sky, tracing constellations he thought he knew with his eyes and falling asleep on the rooftop he had escaped to.

Cigarette smoke scraped against his throat only to be released in a steady exhale. ‘’Beautiful, isn't it?’’ Sherlock commented, even though the scene in his mind’s eye is entirely different.

‘’I thought you didn't care about-’’

‘’Doesn't mean I can’t appreciate it.’’

Sherlock misses the stars. 

When he turned on his side to look into the cobalt blue of John’s eyes, he could pretend the ache in his chest didn't mark him so deeply.

 

* * *

 

 

White and yellow lights flicker across the roadway, flashing over glass as John drives. The low buzz of the motor is a constant presence. _‘Will you pour me one for the road’_ the male singer croons in the radio, a background for the silence that stretches out between the two boys sitting side by side.

The world passes by in a blur. They can no longer see the shadows of the city, lost in a sea of trees that rustle with the wind.

‘’I missed you,’’ John murmurs, eyes fixed ahead of him.

Sherlock places a hand on John’s thigh and squeezes in retaliation.

 

* * *

 

 

You never realize how small you are in comparison with the universe.

You look at the moon, inches away from you, and if you reach out a hand, you can probably touch it. You never do.

The sun follows you wherever you go; it never tires. Constantly by your side, revolving around you.

Stars don’t. They have their own life, independent creatures who are constantly changing their places. Except they don’t. You are wrong and then you remember the solar system is still a mystery to you. But you don’t seem to mind because there are figures in the night sky, story tellers. You liked listening to them. Past tense. They don’t shine as bright as they did in the past.

You learned how to live with that fact.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’John.’’

The name comes as a mere whisper, breathless.

‘’Beautiful, isn't it?’’ John inquires and his voice is disturbed by an unsuppressed smile as he brings out memories Sherlock hadn't forgotten.

There’s a man whose job is to paint the sky, Mycroft had told him while lying next to him on the rooftop of the house who carries all his childhood memories. Every night, he’ll bring a ladder and climb and climb until he can reach the sky with the tip of his finger. He’s the father of all the stars in the universe, even the ones you can’t see. He gives them names and meanings and rearranges them in different forms and figures, paints them with splashes of white and silver who blink at you when you look up.

John doesn't need to look up, not when the scene above them is reflected in Sherlock’s pale eyes.

John shivers as cold fingers curl around his hand and it takes him less than 3 seconds to intertwine them together, the fluidity of the movement coming from the endless times he had done this before.

‘’You gave me stars,’’ Sherlock breathes, and his voice is hard to distinguish over the beating of his pounding heart and he feels so very small.

John’s breath is warm against his neck, his smile carving itself on his skin but Sherlock can do little else than wrap his arm around his waist, staring at the sky above them who’s not so dark any more.

 

* * *

 

 

Lost.

How easy it is for you to lose yourself in the universe.

 

* * *

 

 

There are constellations who are always present, John says. Visible in the Northern Hemisphere during the whole year. Circumpolar Constellations, the ones who stay in the sky.

‘’That’s the Ursa Minor.’’ And John takes hold of Sherlock’s hand to point his finger in the right direction, aware of the smile on the brunet’s lips as his eyes find it. ‘’The last star of its tail is the Polaris, the one who shines brighter, and if you follow it, you’ll always find North.’’

Sherlock shifts closer to John’s body, curling up on his side as they lay on the car’s small rooftop. Big, bright eyes follow the long line of Draco, the Dragon, who met its death during the Titan war with Zeus when Athena flung it to the air, trapping it on the sky amongst the other stars.

‘’And that’s the-’’

‘’Ursa Major, isn’t it?’’ Sherlock guesses and the smile who plays on John’s lips makes his doubt vanish. ‘’The Great Bear.’’

‘’Callisto.’’

‘’Who?’’

‘’A nymph of Artemis, a young lady Zeus was lusting after.’’

‘’Then why is she a bear?’’

‘’You know, Hera, Zeus’ wife, got jealous and turned her into a bear to make her look ugly. Even the Gods couldn’t handle jealously,’’

‘’Well, that’s one way to deal with it. At least it was sucessful.’’

John’s chest shudders as he chuckles and Sherlock finds himself laughing too before he can stop himself.

 

* * *

 

 

John talks until his voice is rough and after he had laid all the stories down, Sherlock still looks for more.

There are not enough stars in the universe, John realizes, that can satisfy the curiosity of Sherlock Holmes.

 

* * *

 

 

‘’Thank you,’’ Sherlock whispers against John’s mouth, rolling his hips and feeling the short strands of John’s blond hair between his fingers.

‘’Oh God,’’ John nothing but gasps.

Sherlock’s lips feel raw and tender from kissing but he parts them over and over for John’s insistent tongue. He can’t remember when they started, _‘’Just kissing’’_ they had both said, but now, with Sherlock straddling John’s lap, feeling the prominent line of his erection through the material of his jeans, just kissing wasn't enough.

John’s hands come up to rest on Sherlock’s waist, dragging him further down, right where he needs him to be, revelling in the soft moan that escapes Sherlock’s lips.

It’s only when Sherlock is trembling on top of him, clutching at his shoulders, that John pulls away, tugging at Sherlock’s bottom lip with his teeth one last time. He looks up with half-lidded eyes, breaths coming in short huffs and puffs, and mouths at the sensitive skin of Sherlock’s neck.

‘’John,’’ he breaths, eyes fluttering closed and head thrown back, and the shiver that runs up his spine when John sucks a bright red mark on his jaw has him writhing already.

‘’Shhh,’’ John soothes. He wraps an arm around Sherlock’s lower back, a small hand rubbing comforting circles on the fabric of his half tucked shirt where his shoulder blades are. ‘’It’s all right.’’

Sherlock arcs up against John’s body once he feels himself being lowered on the seat and he lunges for John’s mouth again as the boy settles between his thighs, spread wide open, long legs wrapped around John’s waist.

They rock together, marking their rhythm with moans of each other’s names who are lost inside eager mouths. Panting against each other’s lips, bodies working to completion, impatient hands who grab and pull and twist.

Sherlock thrusts upwards, meeting John’s hips, and the friction is too much, his cock trapped in the confines of his pants, and he can’t quite get there but John’s body is pressed right up against his and he’s moaning into Sherlock’s ear and the sudden pull on his dark curls has him twisting beneath John and whimpering and _oh God_.

Sherlock’s whole body clenches as he comes, hips thrusting erratically now, legs tightening their grip around John and he knows he’s nearly shouting but, for once, there’s no one there to listen, he doesn't have to bite the back of his hand to keep quiet, swallow down the desperate calls of John’s name.

John is staring at him with big, lust soaked eyes, moving frantically now and Sherlock gathers the energy to look down to see John’s hand stuffed in his jeans, stroking himself once, twice, before a strangled moan wrenches itself from his lips and he goes slack on top of Sherlock’s heaving figure.

They lay there, trying to get their breaths back, minds too clouded with their post orgasmic haze.

‘’Oh my God,’’ John breaths, voice hoarse, and he props himself on one elbow to look down at Sherlock, easing off of him.

‘’Indeed,’’ the dark haired boy replies and he’s smiling as John brushes his errant curls out of his forehead and bends down to kiss him again and again, and once more because he can.

‘’You okay?’’ John asks when they break apart.

‘’I'm lying on the back-seat of your mother’s car, all sticky with semen and sweat, in the middle of nowhere, how do I look?’’

The smirk on John’s lips makes Sherlock quickly regret his answer. ‘’Like you've been thoroughly shagged.’’

‘’You’re so romantic,’’ he says, the sarcasm clear.

‘’I love you too.’’ And John can feel Sherlock smiling against his lips.

The sun rises behind them and if the stars hide themselves in their place one more time, Sherlock doesn't acknowledge it.


End file.
